Clean Kill
by Hth
Summary: Missing scene from "The Devil's Trill."


Clean Kill

by Hth

I even like the way you murder me.

You mean what you say, even when you say it with a hatchet, don't you?  Even when you aren't...well, you aren't you at all.

It's all a little bit confusing.

The blood is still warm, almost comfortable.  First it will get sticky, then itchy, then dry and stiff.  That'll be the worst part -- well, the worst part since the killing itself, which hurt.

Hurt, but in the right kind of way.  Understand that: I'm grateful to you for killing me quickly, one gorgeous and gruesome fit of rage.  I never saw you angry like that before -- your face.  Angry.  Determined, yes.  But somehow -- usually -- when it's you behind those peculiar eyes -- you get more human when you're ready to put a stop to something, or someone.  More human.  What do I mean by that?  I don't know, Tzusuki.  You just *do.* You look like you belong on earth, living a life.  Making a difference in the world...it suits you.

I never really did, when I was alive.  I think I do, now.  But I don't know -- it's not really me, is it?  It's the job.  I do what I'm told.

You would never think that about me, would you?  That I take orders better than you do.  But, Tzusuki, I've been doing it for so long.  You should have seen me when I first went to the doctor.  I was in so much pain, and so scared.  So young.  It felt like they examined me for days on end.  Do this, go there.  Take your clothes off.  Take these pills.  I want you to see another doctor.  He's a specialist.  Don't you worry, young man, we'll have you feeling better in no time.  I was no rebel, believe me, Tzusuki.  I wanted it all to be easy and fast, magical.  So that I woke up from the agony as though it were just a dream, and it was time to get up for school.

I never went back to school.  As the weeks turned into months, I rarely got out of bed.  Months become years.  I don't remember the last time I left my hospital -- alive, anyway.  Maybe three months before I died.  Maybe a little more.  By then, nothing seemed to matter anymore anyway.

The way he kills, Tzusuki....  It's enough to make you cry tears of thanks when a man comes at you with an axe.

But what does any of this have to do with you, right?  It wasn't you anyway.  You're...somewhere else.  Seeing me?  Seeing this?  It was only your body that tried to kill me.  I know that.  I knew that from the beginning, if you'll notice.  For once, my cynicism pays off.  Maybe you'll learn something, when you get back.

I'll get you back.  Don't think I won't.  Just as soon...as I can move again.

Something's shifting around inside of me.  Things down there in my guts are beginning to feel a little more solid again.  It's a weird feeling.  And I'm bored, too.  Bored, and my eyeballs are getting dry from not being able to blink.  I hate this.

Hate that demon.  And he's a bad actor, too.  For a Prince of Hell.  I never thought he was you for a moment.  Well...maybe for a moment.  There was -- when you came out of the shower -- just this look in your eyes that made me wonder if I was really so sure about all this.  One of your typical sad-pup-trying-to-be-brave looks.  So un-demonlike.  I did hope I was wrong.

Maybe it was just the way your hair was wet.  You always look like you've been dunked and held under when you're wet.  Hair sticking to your face.  You look foolish.  I want to make you tie it back for the sake of your dignity, not that you ever cared about your dignity.

                What *do* you care about, anyway, Tzusuki?  I know you must have had troubles in your life -- why else be here now? -- but the way you act makes it hard to believe.  Hard to believe, when you're so gentle with me, more full of sweetness than one of your damned cream puffs -- that you've ever felt anything like...the things I've felt.  The things I suffered even before I remembered what I was suffering from.

Sometimes I think rather than suggesting to you that you fix your hair, and hearing you say brightly that it doesn't matter to you...I think I might just do it for you myself.  Put my fingers...by your temples...and pull back.  Gather up all that slippery black...silk...lift it off your skin and fix it back so it won't be in your way.  So your face....

Ah.  Fix your own hair, if you can be bothered.  You're a slob, Tzusuki.  You rumple easily, and you're forgetful.  You over-tip and you can't cook.  You waste time and you can't use even the simplest filing system and you always lead with your heart.  You're a mess, and I don't even care about the way you look with your shirt off.  You're still a mess.

If it had been you with your hands on me....  Well, I might start to care.  I might learn to -- get used to you or something.  But it wasn't, and I always knew.  It wasn't you in there.

It was only you when you killed me.  Oh, it *wasn't,* but it's nice to think that it...was.  A little bit of you.  Because the demon used cars and rocks and things like that to kill, but you, Tzusuki, you put a blade right through me.  Came damned close to taking my arm off at the shoulder, and by the way, muscles itch when they weave themselves back together.  I've never had itchy muscles before, and never hope to again, especially.  I hate this.

How long have I been sitting here, anyway?

I'm not a patient person.  You might have noticed.  I almost cut my own head off pulling against Muraki's wire cage, just because I couldn't stand there and not *move,* not do anything at all.  Fight, flight, whatever.  Just go.  Something.

This body won't go.  Not yet.  Not for a while.

Now, that's the second time I've thought of Muraki.  That's no way to get comfortable.

But I can't help it.  Damn you, Tzusuki.  I thought you wanted to *kill* the musician.  I didn't know you were planning to -- the way you -- touch --

Not you.  Not you.  Of course.  I'm sorry, it's only that--

That it looked like....

No.  But it really didn't.  So the truth is that it--

That it might have been....

Except that it never would have been.  Not like that, with that strange darkness churning underneath the steady flutter of your everyday thoughts.  So the truth is that it--

That I wanted it to be--

You....

No.  I didn't.  Because I can't be touched, Tzusuki; I don't like to be touched.  I've told you that.  You can't imagine the things that go on in the pit of my stomach, in the pit of my mind, when I'm touched.  I hope you can never imagine it.  It's no dream of mine, and I know you've never been in my nightmares.

So there was no reason.  To realize.  To see you coming toward me and think -- *finally.*

That would be just...twisted.

So being glad that you butchered me with an axe instead of putting your lips against mine -- that's not twisted?  That's normal?  Well, it's relative, isn't it?  Normal.  What could be more natural, actually, than for a shinigami to find some kind of comfort in death.  After all, at least I've been here before.

Kissing you....  Well, that's a place I've never been.  Nowhere even near.

Anybody ever kiss you when you were alive, Tzusuki?

Of course they did.  Who am I kidding?  That smile of yours.  They lined up around the block, didn't they?

Well, that wasn't my life.  Let's just leave it at that.

I think my heart just started beating again.

I hate this.


End file.
